


Over the Horizon Radar

by pinkpompom



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crash Landings, M/M, Solo Missions, Survival, separated boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpompom/pseuds/pinkpompom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe Dameron heads off on a solo mission in his X-Wing to aid the Resistance, leaving Finn behind to wait for his return and help the rest of the base to prepare for war. When things don't go as planned, the stranded pilot is left with only his wits and a meager amount of supplies to find a way to survive alone on a strange planet.<br/> <br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goL-Iu6Qz2o&list=PLsY-qpukjzr5Mt2abP1sTf9OMCyIwxO8O">chapter by chapter mood music playlist</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 72 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Over the Horizon Radar - Boards of Canada](https://youtu.be/goL-Iu6Qz2o)   
> 

“Four days?”

 

“Four days.”

 

Poe stood in full flight gear on the open landing pad, helmet in one hand, the other rubbing comfortingly over Finn’s bicep. His X-Wing packed up with everything he’d need, some stuff he might need, and stuff he probably shouldn’t need but _just in case._ It was easier before, taking off on solo missions for days on end, no one to account for but himself. But _now,_ he has Finn waiting for him, worrying about him, wanting him to come back, wanting him to come _home._

 

“I still don’t see why they couldn’t send someone else to do it…” Finn muttered under his breath, eyes full of disappointment. “I want you to stay here with me, I haven’t even been awake for that long.”

 

“It’s been two months, buddy,” Poe gave a lopsided smile, eyes crinkling along with it. “I promise, I’ll be there and back before you even notice I’m gone.”

 

Finn scoffed. “Yeah, okay, sure."

 

“C’mon, don’t get upset with me, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t think it was a necessity. This is my job, I signed up to be a part of this, so did you,”

 

"I know. It just... feels like everyone’s going somewhere else but me.”

 

"I know, buddy," Poe sighed, leaning in to speak softly, closer to Finn’s ear. “I’ll be home soon, I promise. Please don’t worry about me. I love you, Finn.”

 

Poe practically wheezed as Finn threw himself into his arms, squeezing tightly, fingers digging tight into the back of his orange flightsuit.

 

“I love you too. Promise?”

 

“I said so, didn’t I? _I promise you_ , Finn, I will come back. Besides, BB-8 is staying here to keep you company, aren’t ya buddy?”

 

The small orange and white droid gave an affirmative beep, rolling back and forth slightly by their feet.

 

“I'm glad,” Finn barely loosened his grip, still speaking next to Poe’s ear. “But you’re going so far away.”

 

“Ithor really isn’t that far, it’ll be an easy trip.” Poe rubbed circles over Finn’s back, taking in the way he smelled one last time; a little musky, like the old leather of his jacket, and fresh like crisp morning air. “I hate to say it, but you gotta let go of me, man. I can’t hug you forever, as much as I’d be totally okay with that normally…”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Finn let go, folding his arms over his chest and blushing slightly. “Go, it’s fine, I’m fine. I’ll manage.”

 

“You sure? I don’t wanna be takin’ off with you all upset.”

 

Finn frowned. “I used to be a _stormtrooper,_ you know, I’m not--”

 

Poe couldn’t help but smile. “Never said anything, but your feelings still matter. C’mere, give me a goodbye kiss.” He tugged Finn back in by the edges of his jacket and pressed a firm kiss to his lips, enjoying the barely audible squeak of surprise he got in return.

 

“See you soon, kid,” Poe winked, throwing his hand up in a lazy salute as he paced back towards his X-Wing. “Take care of him, BB! I’m all set, General.”

 

Smirking, General Organa nodded. “Good to hear it, Commander. Be safe, we’re counting on you.”

 

“Of course.” Poe gave a thoughtful nod before climbing up the ladder propped along the side of his ship and falling into his seat in the cockpit. He pulled his helmet over his dark curls, giving one last knowing look to Finn before flipping back into Commander mode.

 

“May the force be with you, Commander Dameron.”

 

The hatch closed, airlock sealing itself off with a quiet squeal before the engines started up with a loud hum.

 

“We call him our best pilot for a reason, you know.” The General said reassuringly to Finn, her eyes still focused on the X-Wing.

 

“I know,” Finn replied, watching as the ship lifted from the ground, the blast from the engines kicking up leaves all around them. “I believe in him.”

 

The X-Wing shot into the sky, soaring over the trees in the distance, breaking through cloud cover, and up into the sky until it was barely a speck in Finn’s line of sight.

 

BB-8 chirped in a friendly pattern, head tilting up to get a better look at Finn’s face, scrunched in an attempt to hide his anxiety.

 

“He’ll come back,” The General said, her voice light as she smiled warmly up at Finn. “He always does.”

 

**/**

 

Poe had been sent on a retrieval mission to Ithor, a distant planet on the Inner Rim, not that far from Yavin. The Ithorian military division had newly designed blasters the General was _very much_ interested in, and had promised a full shipment if she approved. Poe had been selected to fly over to meet them, based on both his knowledge of the Ithorese language, and his proven resourcefulness ( _not to mention the whole ‘best pilot in the Resistance’ qualification_ ). He was more than willing to do whatever was asked of him, especially by General Organa, but this mission in particular seemed more important than average. The blasters were specially designed; quantum core charger, self-healing organic material exterior, and less than one third of the weight of the regular blasters they had in their armory.

 

If he was being honest, Poe was more than a little excited about them himself. The one he’d been issued was fine, but it was pretty clunky, and weighed him down when he needed it the least. This change in weaponry felt like a pretty big advantage in their favour, so the long trip was well worth it.

 

Once he was out of D'Qar's orbit, Poe steered the ship towards a clear path to jump to lightspeed. It felt so good flying solo again, since he really hadn't done anything like this since the incident on Jakku. His X-Wing handled beautifully, freshly tuned up and ready for the journey ahead, responding in perfect time as he angled the yoke just right. A toothy grin stretched across his face, his mind humming along with the engine; this is where Poe felt like he was truly in his element.

 

With nothing else blocking his path in sight, Poe flicked on the hyperdrive and shot out of the Ileenian system, stars blurring into long, silver lines just outside the cockpit windows as he accelerated beyond the planets in the distance. Waiting out the time in lightspeed was easy, he spent it as he usually did; leaning back to enjoy a little music through the tinny speakers in the dashboard. Controlling the ship while coming out of it, however, that was the tricky part.

 

The moment Poe flicked the switch off, he was greeted by a rather unexpected guest, something that hadn’t shown up on the sensors previously: a meteor field.

 

Poe fought to compensate, practically tearing the steering wheel out of its socket as he turned the X-Wing away from a meteorite the size of a house, swiftly hurling himself into a cloud of debris. Varying sizes of particles and chunks of rock pelted against the glass, pinging and echoing inside the cockpit, scratching the windshield and quaking the hull so violently Poe felt like he was vibrating in his seat. The X-Wing was designed for combat, so the scattered rocks pelting the body did little.

 

What did a lot was the moon-sized hunk of meteor flying at him from his blind spot, crashing at 100 miles an hour into the left side of his ship before he had a chance to even attempt to dodge it.

 

Poe's heart leapt into his throat as he did everything he could to try and keep himself on course, but his hands flew off the wheel the moment the massive rock made impact with the ship. A screeching crunch reverberated through the hull, while a visible chunk of what used to be the ship's wing hurtled across the windshield. With lights and alarms, the starfighter descended, nose-diving through debris so hard the windshield began to crack. Plunging through atmosphere, picking up speed; 100 miles an hour, 120, 150, 180, 220…

 

Poe smashed head first into the dashboard, helmet bouncing off and visor splitting at the collision. He choked, gasping for breath as he lost all control of the now crashing X-Wing. Vision turning black, he reached out to trigger the atmospheric protection shield, gloved hand shaking against the g-forces, and against the quickly depressurizing cockpit.

 

_"Atmospheric protection enabled. Seventy two hours remaining."_


	2. Day 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****Blood/gore/injury warning!****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Falling - Ex_Machina](https://youtu.be/GAP2Yx0Jn-I)   
> 

Faint beeping. Cool air. A smell like something burning, but also a little like ship fuel.

 

Maybe ship fuel burning?

 

Poe groaned, opening his eyes slowly against the honey-coloured light. His head ached, and so did his back. And his legs, too?

 

What time is it? Why did he wake up? It's light out, it must be--

 

Poe jolted awake, sitting bolt upright, or, as much as he could manage as he quickly realized he was not in his cot; the crushing weight of metal against his lower body made that very apparent.

 

Braced on his elbows behind him, he looked down; a mass of body metal, broken glass, wires, and gods know what else, heaped over his legs and lower abdomen, pinning him to the ground. A small, panicked sound escaped his throat as Poe tried to get a better look at what his situation was.

 

Blood. He could see blood trickling out from under the wreckage, and the lack of pain, or any sensation for that matter, was a little more than a cause for concern.

 

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh gods, _oh fucking hell, fuckfuckfuck..."_ Poe felt his chest tightening, breathing becoming erratic. His throat burned, vomit rising to meet the ground before he had a chance to stop it. Clamping his eyes shut, he tried his best to pull himself together, focusing on his breathing; in through the nose, out through his mouth. There was no way he'd make it out of here alive if he let his fear get the best of him now. Once he felt his heart slow a little bit ( _either a sign of calm, or his body slowly giving up before he dies, a great thing to think right now_ ), he looked around for something to help lift some of the wreckage. He spotted a long, thin piece of coolant piping behind himself, just sturdy enough to take some weight without bending. He reached out, but quickly realized he couldn't move any further than where he was stuck. He grasped wildly, laying twisted on his back and arm fully extended as he did his best to grab the pipe, finger tips just brushing the edge. He swore under his breath, feeling the pinch grow stronger as he struggled against the crushing weight, hand finally managing to wrap around the very end of the cold metal.

 

Poe sighed in relief, yanking the tool towards himself. It was heavy, heavy enough to make lifting it without his lower body a challenge, but he managed to wedge it under the largest piece in the mountain on top of him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled down, exerting any energy he had left in his arms, shifting the massive pile just enough he could wiggle himself free, pulling his body backwards before dropping the pile back down in a crunching heap.

 

With the pressure finally absent, Poe could feel sensation coming back to his legs. "Oh, thank the force..." Now for the scary part; finding out where the blood was coming from, and if his legs are broken.

 

Poe unzipped his flightsuit, tugging the fabric down his torso, past his underwear, cautiously peeling the tacky, blood soaked orange fabric from where it stuck to his thigh, revealing a puncture wound about an inch across and who knows how deep. He winced, bracing himself to inspect it further. He swiped a finger over it, pressing down to feel the depth of the pain, cringing through tears as he feels something solid push down more than halfway through the muscle. Perfect. He wiggled his toes inside his boots, feeling the tension of his tendons down his leg. It feels strange, but no horrible pain worth noting. Okay, so not broken. That’s something, right?

 

Looking around ( _feeling more than a bit vulnerable in his less clothed state_ ), Poe sees the X-Wings only chair no more than ten meters away, still attached to the floor but turned on its side. The first aid kit should still be attached to the underside, it’s his only chance. He tugs his suit back up just enough to tie the arms around his waist, making a concerted attempt to pick himself up. He starts slowly, feeling out how much pressure he can put on his leg, preparing himself for the pain that will undoubtedly follow. Shifting his weight, he brings himself to stand, placing his weight on his good leg at first, then gingerly lets his right foot touch the ground.

 

It isn’t as bad as he had anticipated, and Poe stands fully, hands ready to catch himself if he falls. It’s in this moment he finally gives himself the chance to see where he is. The planet is very unlike D’Qar, vast and barren, covered in not much else but sand and small patches of something like grass. However, the colouring is different, showing evidence this planet is clearly not oxygen based ( _Poe is thankful he managed to turn the atmosphere shield on_ ), what little ‘grass’ there was is a strange grey hue, while the fine dirt appears to be a deep rusty orange. Tall, bizarre looking ‘trees’ scatter in the distance, with yellow, mossy looking foliage instead of leaves, and the sky is tinted a strangely dark green-blue instead of the pale, clear blue he was used to. He’d seen stranger planets, but the strangest part was that this one appeared to be uninhabited, or not in this section, anyway.

 

Poe pushed a stray curl away from his forehead, steeling himself to walk those ten meters. He takes one step on his good leg, another on his bad. This isn’t so bad! Another two steps, he makes it about three meters, focusing on the goal. Two more steps, okay, yeah, that kind of hurt. A lot. Okay that hurt a lot more. He stops for a moment, shifting his weight off his injured leg, taking deep breaths. He’s close, he just needs to make it to the first aid kit and he can take care of this. Two more steps, one foot in front of the other, focusing on his breathing, not letting himself think about the searing pain shooting down his leg. He manages to limp the rest of the way, practically dragging his foot behind him, making it to the overturned seat. He flops down, pulling at the seat cushion relentlessly until he finds the silver metal tin labeled in big block print: ‘MEDICAL KIT’. He pries it open with trembling fingers, rummaging through for what he needs; a bottle of salve, a roll of gauze, medical grade tape, sterilizing cream, and forceps.

 

Now for the fun part.

 

Poe unties and pulls his jumpsuit back down, making the puncture in his right quadriceps visible again ( _now bleeding even more from his short journey_ ). First, salve, poured in a small amount over the open wound, clearing away the excess blood and whatever bacteria may have already been forming there. Second, forceps. No, this was not exactly what Poe had on his list of ‘things to do before I die’, but here he was all the same. He wiped the excess liquid away, testing the skin around the wound before he dove into quite possibly the worst part of all of this. Third, Poe gripped the forceps, cold surgical steel between his palm and fingers. He took a deep breath, allowed himself to curse out loud, and then got straight to it. With two fingers he pried his own flesh apart, pulse quickening under his skin as he grunted in pain. Not wasting a moment, he thrust the forceps in, allowing himself to scream into the empty air as he gripped blindly. The second he felt them clamp down around something hard, he yanked back, dissecting a blood covered, three inch long broken off chunk of chair frame. He gaped at it, breathing shaking uneven as he recovered from the waves of pain radiating from his torn leg muscle. The empty, open wound leaked more blood, dripping down over leg hair and into the bunched up, orange fabric beneath.

 

Cursing, Poe quickly poured more salve over it, wiping with a ripped off chunk of gauze and applying pressure with shaking hands to try and get the bleeding to stop. Fourth, he unscrews the cap of the cream, fingers shaking so violently he can barely keep a grip on it. He slathers as much on as he can manage, cringing at the sting. Finally, he unravels the roll of gauze, hurriedly wrapping it over the wound, around his thigh, over and over again, until he formed a tight dressing thick enough to keep any excess blood from getting everywhere.

 

Breathing, steadying his breath, clutching his hands to his chest, Poe took a moment ( _he deserved this much_ ). He looks up at the bubble around his crash site, the edges rippling and distorting the sky above. He realizes he has no idea how long he’d been unconscious, so he has no idea how much time he has left under the protection of the shield. Ice cold fear creeps back into his veins, paralyzing him on the dusty ground. He needs to get up, he needs to check. He needs to find out if he can communicate with anyone.

 

Walking around the perimeter is more of a challenge than he’d like, but Poe manages to make himself inspect the damage, he has to be realistic and start forming plans. The X-Wing is bashed up pretty bad, one wing missing completely while the other is bent at a 90˚ angle from the body. The hull is smashed open, broken glass scattered for at least 100 meters in every direction, while the cockpit is a mess of wires and missing controls. Poe crouches, wincing at the strain in his knee, inspecting the communication console for any sign of repairability. He really isn’t sure what he’s doing with electronics, but it isn’t hard to tell nothing is connected as it should be.

 

 _“Fuck!”_ Poe kicks the busted metal, forming a deeper dent in the body. No BB-8, no comm link, nothing. How the hell was he going to tell anyone where he is? That he failed, he didn’t make it to Ithor, that he’s stranded on some kriffing awful planet with a fucked up leg and no ship? He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, choking back tears, trying _so damn hard_ to keep his shit together, but it’s getting harder and harder.

 

Sniffing, he tries to refocus, and finds the palm sized monitor for the atmospheric shield still working. Although it’s yanked from its socket and hanging by wires, the screen is a faint blue with large digital numbers:

 

 **68:23:07**  
and counting down.

 

Poe sighs heavily, scratching a hand through his hair in desperation. He’s so tired, his body aches so badly he almost wants to give up, but the number on the screen makes it obvious just how little time he has to relax. Picking himself up, he gets to work, heaving up broken hatches to pull out any of the remaining packed supplies he can find. It takes him a while, but he forms a list:

 

  * 10 days worth of ration bars, 20 total
  * 4 containers of water, 1 litre each
  * 1 atmospheric protection suit, missing the helmet
  * His guitar, while shocked it survived the impact at all, missing a chunk split from the bottom
  * A half empty pack of cigarettes. He counts 11 total left
  * A knit sweater with a hole torn through the back
  * A photo he’d pinned to the dashboard of him, Finn, and BB-8 outside by the landing pad ( _it was his favourite, and he felt a pang of relief to find it still in tact_ )
  * His small black journal and a silver pen
  * An emergency sleep kit, containing 1 sleeping bag, 2 thermal blankets, and a roll-able mattress pad
  * The first aid kit, now missing some gauze, antibacterial cream, and a large amount of salve



 

It’s not the worst turn out imaginable, but he knows he’s missing a few things. He can’t find the emergency flashlight he knows should be with the ship, the sleep kit pillow, his clothing bag he’d packed, or his blaster. Poe seriously hopes the planet is either populated by something friendly, or at the very least, actually uninhabited.

 

While the strangely tinted daylight begins to fade, he organizes his findings, and tries to create some sort of formulated system so he can remember exactly what he has and how much of it. It’s hard to acknowledge it, but Poe knows he _doesn’t know_ just how long he could end up being here.

 

He wiped his oil ( _amongst other fluids_ ) stained hands on his orange flightsuit, instantly regretting it when he remembers he has no other clothes. “Goddamn it.”

 

Poe heaved a large, bent chunk of shrapnel out from the wreckage pile and tosses one of the shiny, silver thermal blankets over it. It’s not much, but it’s as close to a tent as he’s going to manage right now. He shifts the military issue sleeping bag under the makeshift tent along with the extra blanket rolled up as a sort of pillow.

 

With his bed in place, Poe settles down to check his injury one more time. The white gauze was partially soaked with deep crimson from the physical stress he’d put on it in the last few hours, but was holding up pretty decently, all things considered. He decided it was best to leave it until later, and settled himself into the sleeping bag, zipping it up along the side and resting his head on the crinkly substitute pillow. He wants to sleep so badly, his body aching with exhaustion and what little light remained quickly fading away, but the absolute panic of being lost and alone holds tight in his gut, keeping his eyes from falling shut. He breathes, remembering he’s been in scarier situations, that he’s been trained to survive. Poe Dameron will not be intimidated by one measly crash landing, he’s seen worse.

 

He wills himself to sleep, although it takes far too long, holding the photograph of Finn, imagining the sunset on D’Qar.


	3. Day 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Memories of Green - Blade Runner OST](https://youtu.be/hthBAnBDNw0)   
> 

The Resistance base is hectic, with preparations for potential attacks in the works and squadrons of soldiers being prepared. Finn was just getting used to the idea of not being a soldier, but with everything going on, he quickly realized there wasn't time for that. With BB-8 tagging along his side, he assisted as best he could, following any orders given to him. It felt good to be of help, or at least of help in a way he had a choice about. It kept him busy, and being busy kept his mind off of how much he was already missing Poe.

 

The first night without him was strange, he'd only just gotten used to not sleeping in a communal bunkroom, not to mention the idea of ‘sleeping in’ (s _omething entirely bizarre to him until Poe had convinced him just how great it was_ ). Finn had been sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to Poe's bed, easily stored underneath during the day, easily pulled out at night. In the darkness, the emptiness of the cot just above him felt unsettling, and he misses being able to reach out and touch Poe's hand whenever he wants. The stillness of the night was an unwelcome guest in his bed.

 

Waking up to an empty room had become fairly normal, he was used to the fact that Poe had a much busier schedule than he did, especially since his back was still healing. BB-8 had been his alarm clock, beeping insistently that he get up at 8:30AM, and keeping him company all through the day. Finn missed Poe and Rey more than he knew how to put into words, so it was comforting to have a friend to keep him company, even if he couldn’t understand them all the time.

 

Although, Finn couldn’t help but wonder why Poe hadn’t made any attempts to contact him yet. Maybe he really was just that busy. He asked BB-8 if Poe usually went without contact during solo missions, but the response he got wasn’t the most useful.

 

**/**

 

Poe awoke with a start, his heart racing as his eyes shot open to see the silver thermal blanket-tent above him yet again. He’d barely slept all night, his anxiety and fear keeping his entire body from relaxing, not to mention the bitter cold that settled in once the sun had disappeared, but the exhaustion seemed to knock him out for at least a couple hours. So, that was something.

 

The most unsettling wakeup call he’d ever heard was the garbled, damaged computer voice from the ship informing him the shield had reached _‘SIXTY HOURS REMAINING’_. Not the most pleasant way to be reminded you have very little time to be rescued, or die.

 

He tried his best to steady his breathing, feeling like he was falling, like his chest was collapsing into itself and he’d never be free of this fear as it consumed him from the inside out. But he tried his best, and managed to calm himself to at least a tolerable level of panicked breathing instead of on the edge of blacking out.

 

Fun.

 

Feeling signs of liquid warmth beneath his flightsuit ( _and seriously hoping he hadn’t pissed himself in his sleep_ ), Poe sat up, unzipping to inspect his wound one more time before he got moving, peeling back the bandage to see a mess of fresh, dried blood, and some sort of gut-turning discharge. He shut his eyes for a moment, reminding himself it could be easily fixed once he gets to the med bay in base. But for now, he has to do the best he can. He zips up, hobbling over to the area in which he’s stored the remaining ration bars and water jugs. Taking a jug, he sits down to pour a small amount over the wound to wash away as much of the buildup as he can, before rebandaging it and hoping for the best. He takes a large swig as well, pouring the cool water into his mouth directly from the bottle, trying to be mindful of just how much he has total. Taking his first ration bar ( _now 19 left_ ), he eats it slowly as he sits in his sleeping bag, wondering what he should be doing to get off of this planet. He comes up with three things:

 

  1. Search for as much salvageable computer parts as he can find among the wreck and try to fix the comm link.
  2. Organize the camp to make the undetermined stay as easy as possible.
  3. Leave the safety of the shield to see what else this planet has to offer.



 

The major issue that comes to mind, however, would be his lack of air tight helmet. His usual insulated flight helmet was fine, found among the crash site mostly intact. But in order to leave the safety of the oxygen bubble, he’d have to find the helmet to match the atmospheric protection suit. There is a small chance the planet actually has a breathable atmosphere, but that’s something he’d have to find out for himself once he’s out there.

 

Poe crumples the wrapper in his palm, chewing his last bite and staring at the shiny foil as his eyes gloss over. As much as he doesn’t want to, number three is really his best option.

 

Sighing to himself, he stands up, testing the pain in his leg. It’s not quite as bad as he expected, but enough that he knows he won’t be able to get very far from his camp. Scrubbing a hand through his messy ( _unfortunately unwashed_ ) hair, he begins humming a small tune. It was something he’d played for Finn on his guitar once before, and it never failed to make him smile. The thought of getting back to Finn kept his mind focused, it was all he had to hang onto right now.

 

Under the gloomy, unfamiliar sky, he rummaged around the piles of wreckage and dug through the sand for partially buried items, Poe manages to find some chunks of motherboard, wires, cables, plugs, and other things he’s not entirely sure of. He places them in his pockets, hoping they come in handy at some point.

 

While the humming was originally soothing, Poe finds himself feeling anger for leaving BB-8 behind, and intense guilt and shame for crashing. For leaving Finn, and for Finn not knowing what’s happened. He wonders if the Resistance base will be discovered and if they’ll have to move. If they’ll have time to get him, if they’ll even bother to come looking for him, if they’ll _remember him._

Hot tears prickle in the corner of his eyes and it takes everything he has to not scream and destroy everything in his hands. He manages to control himself for a moment, dumping all his findings into the sand as he crumples into a heap beside it, sobbing deep into the orange sleeves of his jumpsuit. Anger and despair consume him, and Poe finds himself crying openly into his palms for what feels like ages. The fear of wasting shield time is the only thing keeping him from sitting longer, and he inhales sharply as he stands while trying to collect himself. And then he sees it.

 

The helmet, the exact one he needs to leave the bubble, is sitting not five feet away from him, partially buried in sand. The familiar silver with orange and grey striping makes his heart practically leap out of his chest, and he rushes over to grab it the moment he locks eyes on it. Inspecting it, he notices the glass has a small crack, but otherwise it’s fairly in tact. He takes it back to the first aid box, rifling through it, and finds some tape to cover the crack across the bottom edge of the helmet. He hopes to gods it will be enough to seal the oxygen in.

 

Poe strips down to his boxers, socks, and t-shirt, pulling the silver and orange suit on carefully over his bandaged leg, hands sliding into the gloves, and zipping it up the middle. He places the helmet over his head, twisting the edge to hear the comforting locking seal, before checking the wrist monitor for oxygen levels. It reads clear, and he sighs in relief, but also triumph. So as to not waste any more time than necessary, Poe walks to the shield monitor and flicks it off.

 

There is a moment where he wonders, _what if it doesn’t come back on?_ But he knows the only way to find out is by risking it. He flicks it back on again, praying desperately that it appears, and almost cries when it does, the screen reading 57:33:28. Things are sort of _maybe_ working out a little better, and he feels like there’s a chance he might be able to get himself off of this place.

 

He hopes.

 

Turning the shield back off, Poe leaves the safety of his campsite, exploring the perimeter of the crash and working his way out. For the most part, it’s just sand, rusty and rough, covering the planet’s surface as far as he can see. He hates the sand, really, it’s so irritating, but he treks on. What truly surprises him is when his foot hits something buried, and it echoes like metal. Did something from the crash land all the way out here?

 

Crouching, Poe dusted off the area to discover a broken chunk of metal, but is shocked to find it has chipped paint in a hyper-reflective silver not found anywhere on his Black One.

 

“What?” Poe mutters to himself, shifting the piece from the sand. It has something written in Aurebesh, but it’s cut off by the damage. He makes out _nern_ , _aurek_ , and _besh._ “Nab…” he furrows his brow behind the foggy glass in his helmet, bewildered by what it could mean. “Naboo?”

 

Without any other clues as to what this hunk belongs to, Poe decides it’s better to just move on. It’s not like he has time to waste trying to solve the mystery of a single piece of metal on an empty planet. He continues his exploration, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of change beyond the cascading landscape of rust-toned sand and hazy sunlight. He finds chunks of metal and computer parts, pocketing them along the way. His boots trudge over the firmly packed ground, getting heavier as the puncture in his thigh begins to take a toll on his muscles yet again.

 

He resolves to head back, unsure of just how much time he’s already spent wandering aimlessly over this planet. It seems to take longer to return, his leg slowing him down more than it had on the way out, and he sinks into the ground with a defeating slump once he makes it within the protection of the shield. He fumbles for the switch with his gloved hands, flicking the shield back on and yanking his helmet off once the screen glowed a positive blue.

 

Poe unzipped his suit to have bare hands before wiping at his face, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and bits of sand and the beginnings of rough stubble. He feels gross, unclean and covered in sweat and sand, desperately wishing he could shower. The urge to cry finds its way back into his chest, holding tight to his throat, but he doesn’t allow it to surface. He sits on the dusty ground, back against the floor of the cockpit, repeating comforting words to himself, aloud and in his head.

 

“You can make it out of here, you’ve been trained for worse.” _I’ve been in worse, I survived Kylo Ren._ “You found Finn. You have Finn.” _I have Finn, I have someone waiting for me._ “Pull yourself together, this is nothing. I don’t have time. There’s no time. There is absolutely no _fucking_ time.”

 

Poe realizes he urgently wants a cigarette, but didn’t manage to find his lighter amongst the discarded items in the crash. He pulls off the rest of the suit, reaching for his boots and jumpsuit he’d laid over the back of the disconnected pilot’s chair, tying the arms around his waist. Once dressed, he rifled through the first aid kit, finding the pack of cigarettes he’d shoved in for safekeeping and tucked one behind his ear. He had an idea. A stupid one that probably wouldn’t work, but he was desperate enough to try.

 

Limping over to the overturned, broken dashboard, Poe pulls back the dented paneling to reveal the frayed wires and smashed up computer chips. Carefully moving parts aside, he found exactly what he was hunting for; a sparking wire. Hands trembling with desperation ( _and low blood sugar_ ), he pulls the cigarette out from behind his ear and holds it to the end of the wire, blowing the tiniest bit to try and help it along. When the end begins to glow, he quickly places it between his lips, inhaling sharply for that first taste of tobacco.  

 

He heads back to his sleeping bag setup, slumping into the bunched up fabric. Smoking was something he’d always tried to avoid doing too often, but in this moment, Poe doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a cigarette this much. Holding the burning stick between his lips, he makes use of his free hands to unwrap another ration bar, taking small bites between puffs. He finally feels his body relaxing, the ache in his quadriceps less sharp, and the constant edge of anxiety becoming a little softer.

 

Finishing both his meal and cigarette, tossing the butt aside, Poe takes a drink from the open water bottle again before settling down into his sleeping bag. He pulls out his small journal and pen, turning to a blank page and hesitating for a moment before he begins to write. 

>  
> 
> _Finn,_
> 
> _As embarrassed as I am to admit it, my ‘short trip’ took a bit of a nosedive and has turned out a lot longer than we had planned. I’ve crashed on some sort of non-oxygen based desert planet, and I have no way to contact you yet. I don’t really know why I’m writing this to be honest, with you not being able to read it and all, but I hope I can get it to you somehow._
> 
> _I’ve only been here two days, but it’s felt so much longer than that. I have ration bars, water, and other things, so survival isn’t out of the question. Part of me wishes I’d brought BB-8 along, but I’m also glad I left him with you. I hope he’s been nice to have around, you deserve a buddy while I’m gone._
> 
> _It’s quiet here, there aren’t any other life forms as far as I can tell. It’s pretty much just been me hanging out in this atmosphere bubble, which is totally cool, you know how I’ve complained about how loud the base can get._
> 
> _Oh, yeah, I sort of hurt my leg. It’s nothing too bad, but I sure am looking forward to a trip to the medical bay once I get home._
> 
> _I love you, Finn. You’re a good man. I hope things have been alright back on base. I hope no one’s given you a hard time, I hope you’ve gotten the chance to talk to Rey, and I hope your back is feeling better. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Your Poe_

Pausing for a moment, he decides to add a note at the bottom. 

   

 

> _PS. If I don’t make it home alive, BB-8 is yours. And I guess everything else in my room, too. Not that that’s going to happen._

Tearing the page out, he folded it in half, and then in half again, shoving it in the deep side pockets of his jumpsuit. One way or another, he was going to make sure this letter found its way to Finn.

 

Pulling the sleeves back on and zipping it up, Poe settled down into his sleeping bag, preparing for the drop in temperature that came with the absence of sun on this planet. His curly ( _somewhat greasy_ ) hair hits the crinkly makeshift pillow, and his eyes fall shut.

 

The hope for better things is becoming harder to hold onto.


	4. Day 03.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [String Tulips - Black Moth Super Rainbow](https://youtu.be/WyqmdWfrxls)   
> 

As much as he wanted to act like it wasn’t bothering him, it was. It absolutely, completely, unfairly was. Finn couldn’t keep his thoughts clear, every moment he was filled with wonder and worry over Poe. How were things going? Where was he? Why hadn’t he made _any_ attempt to contact Finn? Or at least the base in general. The silence felt deafening, and all the smiles and comforting claps on the back in the world couldn’t help to ease the pain he was experiencing.

 

It was on the third day that Finn realized he now truly understood what it meant to love someone, to feel pain and loneliness from their absence. His lack of experience with these feelings only managed to make it worse, and he quickly found himself lying facedown in Poe’s bed just for the comfort of the way his sheets smelled. He felt like crying, but berated himself for being so emotional. He had faith in Poe, the mission wasn’t even supposed to be that risky. He was probably just keeping silent as an extra precaution, they never were quite sure if and when they First Order might be listening.

 

However, that knowledge didn’t make his urge to hear from Poe any lesser.

 

"Excuse me, ma’am,” Finn stood in the entrance of the command centre, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket and BB-8 rolling impatiently beside him. "Can I speak with you?"

 

Leia Organa turned around from where she was watching multiple projections on the back wall. "Finn, of course, come in."

 

Entering the room, Finn couldn't help but glance at all the busy screens and operators, all seemingly in their own world with their work, while the droid followed closely behind.

 

"You're here to ask about Dameron, aren't you?"

 

Slightly surprised by her insightfulness, Finn nodded. "I wanted to know if you've heard from him. I wanted to know if I could contact him."

 

“I’m sorry to say it but,” the General sighed, her expression tight. “We haven't been able to make contact since he left," motioning to the screen behind her, she encouraged Finn to see for himself. "We've been sending out requests to communicate for the past fifteen hours and haven't received anything back. Our sensors can't detect him in the quadrants he should be in, either."

 

Finn felt like he was falling out of a chair, but couldn't catch himself. His mind went white with fear. “What... what do you mean? He's on Ithor, isn't he?"

 

"That's the thing, we contacted the Ithorian delegates as soon as we knew something wasn't right. They say he isn't there, he hasn't even landed on their planet."

 

Finn felt like he was going to vomit right then and there. "So what are we doing? What's, who's looking for him? We have to find him, he can't be... Poe's not gone, I'm sure he's fine, we just--"

 

"Finn, sit down, please," Leia pulled out an empty chair, giving him a gentle nudge to take it. "We're doing everything we can right now. We have radars on several planets, and they're all on looking for him. But we might have to start considering that things didn't go as planned. He--"

 

"Don't," Finn looked away. "Don't say it. He’s fine, Poe is _fine.”_ BB-8 beeped quietly beside him.

 

“I hope so too, but we can’t assume anything. Commander Dameron is a wanted man within the First Order, if only out of spite.”

 

Finn cringed.

 

“Now, I don’t want to even think that you might be blaming yourself, private,” the General’s tone was stern. “You were unbelievably brave and did the right thing. There’s as much of a target on your back as his.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Good. Now,” taking a seat herself, General Organa locked soft brown eyes with Finn’s. “Try to not worry too much, it won’t do you any good. I’ll personally make sure you hear about any updates as soon as we get them.”

 

Finn forced a small smile, though his chest felt hollow. “Thank you, General.”

 

“You’re very welcome.”

 

 

**/**

 

 

_WHUMP_

 

Poe sat bolt upright, hitting the side of the makeshift tent with his head, causing the thermal blanket to fall on him.

 

_WHAM. WHUMP._

 

He fought with the obnoxious, crinkly sheet, tearing it from his head to see what the hell was making that sound. At first he saw nothing, but upon turning all the way around, his eyes landed on something he wasn’t expecting _at all._

 

A Hoojib, white fur stained from the rusty sand, was pelting itself against the edge of the protective bubble, arms flailing wildly as it hurled its head full force into the solid photonic shield. Behind it were four more, each doing the same thing in sporadic bursts. It was a bizarre thing to witness, and for a moment Poe thought he might still be dreaming. He glanced at his hands, remembering the trick his mother had taught him as a child. His fingers looked normal, not bent or distorted, and he could feel the ridges in his palms. No, he was definitely awake.

 

Still crouching on his dusty sleeping bag, he watched with confusion as the small, fluffy creatures inflicted this pain upon themselves. Were they trying to get inside? To get to Poe? Did they need help, too? How did they even get here? He must be hallucinating, there was no way this was actually happening. A combination of sleep deprivation, injury, a constant fear of death and abandonment, and eating nothing but ration bars would do this to anyone. His brain had made them up, there is no way masochistic Hoojibs were right in front of him.

 

He stood slowly, wincing at the strain in his leg muscles, and shuffled closer to the edge.

 

The moment he was close enough, the centre-most Hoojib opened its mouth, screeching high pitched and piercing. It looked almost too wide, wider than he thought it could open without breaking its own jaw... And oh, gods, there were its teeth. Four rows of uncharacteristically sharp teeth, some broken off in jagged edges. These were not the docile creature Poe had seen before, there was something horribly wrong about them. Out of morbid curiosity ( _and the assumption he was safe behind the shield_ ), Poe stepped closer, inspecting their features in more detail. He had to cover his ears, but could see that their eyes were abnormal too, discoloured with misshapen pupils, blown out wide and wonky around the sides.

 

It was still dark, and these... creatures, whatever they were, whether or not they were real, had woken him from the short amount of sleep he had been able to get. Poe didn't know what to do, his entire body was stiff from sleeping on the horrible ground conditions, and he was almost positive he was alone before now. Where did these things come from?

 

Another question that came to mind was, of course, how much time was left on the shield timer?

 

He backed up towards the wrecked ship, eyes still glued on the creatures at the edge of his only source of safety. He fumbled to find the removed monitor, lying against the edge of the shredded wing, wires pulled out haphazardly. He glanced at the time, nervous to take his eyes off the unwanted guests.

 

**46:47:26**

 

Poe bit his lip to keep it from shaking, a tight knot of anxiety forming in his chest yet again. Only a couple hours over two days, that was all he had left, and all he'd managed to do was find some scrap parts he couldn't even begin to piece together.

 

The knot turned to icy dread, and he suddenly found it far too difficult to see straight, his throat so tight he could barely breathe, his breathing becoming erratic and suffocating, he's going to _suffocate_ —

 

Poe clenched his jaw, wiping at the tears that had already begun spilling onto the sand and his boots. He fell to his knees, pulling them tight to his chest as he struggled to find something to ground him. He fought to find a clear memory, something to calm his mind; his bed, white sheets, waking up with Finn just feet from his reach, the look of absolute calm on his perfect face as he slept in the stream of sunshine. Creases and stress erased from his beautiful, deep, smooth skin. The way his eyebrows lifted high towards his hairline...

 

He breathed deeply, focusing on the memory as clearly as he could. He imagined sitting on the edge of his bed, listening to Finn talk in the morning as he got ready. He thought of holding Finn's hand under the table during meetings, of morning caf shared across from each other in the mess hall, of kissing both of Finn's cheeks while he smiled like he'd never been kissed before. Poe thought of home, of everything he needed to get back to. He thought of Finn and his perfect smile, and gods, if the thought of that didn't keep him going, he wasn't sure what could.

 

Picking himself back up, he returned to his sleeping bag, pulling the silver blanket back over the bent wing and positioning himself facing the edge of the shield. He watched the maybe-Hoojibs with tired eyes, though he felt a new sense of determination. He'd protect himself at whatever cost if it meant staying alive long enough to get back home.

 

Poe unwrapped another ration bar. Gods, he was so sick of these dry, chewy, boring fucking bars. But what the hell else did he have? He finished it faster than he'd of liked, while considering the options around him, glancing at the warped X-Wing and the rubble around it. He noted:

 

  1. A raw, curved edge hunk of metal, approximately 2 feet across and 3 feet long.
  2. The same metal rod he'd used to pry himself out of the wreckage.
  3. His guitar.



 

He scratched over his now four-day-old stubble, silently wishing he had a razor. His best option for a defence weapon was probably finding some way to attach the sharp metal to the pole, mostly because the thought of smashing his guitar to save his own skin felt wrong in some way.

 

Poe reached for the guitar, careful of the splintering wood along the bottom as he rested it in his lap. Although his nerves felt like live wires right now, playing his guitar always managed to help in the past, so it was worth a shot. He strummed a long chord ( _the sound oddly hollow from the hole_ ), eyes still locked on the angry looking not-quite-Hoojibs outside, hoping the sound might ward them off. With nimble fingers, he plucked out a familiar tune, his mind following with memories of a romantic evening spent in the grass outside of base, playing songs for Finn until his fingers hurt. The melody was repetitive, following a pattern, it felt so natural to let his eyes simply fall shut, his hand following an automatic rhythm... One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three...

 

Before long, Poe had fallen back asleep, torso slumped over his guitar and hand still loosely wrapped around the neck, dark curls falling across his face.

 

 

**/**

 

 

That night, Finn stared at the ceiling, in Poe's bed, holding the pillow over his nose and mouth, inhaling deeply as he struggled to keep tears from rolling down his cheeks. It has been dark for hours, but there was no way he was going to fall asleep like this.

 

Closing his eyes, he wrote a letter in his head, imagining Poe could hear it somehow. Maybe the Force did things like that, he really wasn't sure, but he hoped so.

 

> _Hey Poe,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I miss you. I don’t know where you are, and that’s not something I know how to deal with. What do people normally do when they’re stressed out? I’m not sure who else to ask._

 

Finn inhaled, breath shaking.

 

> _I wish there was a way I could know you're alive, at least. Not knowing is harder. I believe you are alive, though. Everyone else assumes the worst, but you survived Kylo Ren, and the crash on Jakku. It sounds stupid, but I believe in you. I know you're stronger than whatever's keeping you from telling us where you are._

 

He glanced at the docked droid across the room, a small light on the front fading in and out to show it's in low power mode.

>  
> 
> _BB-8 has been keeping me company, but I can tell it's worried about you, too. It keeps beeping at me, but I don't speak droid yet, so I'm not sure what to say._
> 
>  
> 
> _I feel like I finally understand what it means to be lonely, now. Even though all these people are around me, not having you here makes me feel empty. I wish I was better at this, at talking about how I feel. But it's such an awful feeling._

 

Finn groaned, wiping over his face with open palms.

 

> _Once you're back, I'm not letting you go again. You've risked your neck too many times already, you're not allowed to leave any more. I love you. You're not allowed to be dead, okay? You have to find a way to show everyone you're alive. You have to._

 

"You have to." Finn muttered out loud, to himself, to Poe, to the Force. Whatever could help Poe now, he hoped it would. The stillness of the night was an unwelcome guest in this bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is a Hoojib.](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Hoojib)   
> 


	5. Day 03.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Every Passing Hour - Helios](https://youtu.be/h2XLLXwkLAc)   
> 

When Poe woke up again, he found himself face down in the sand with his guitar pressed painfully into his ribs. Groaning, he up righted himself, suddenly recalling the unsettling guests that had been outside the shield not too long ago. His eyes shot back to the spot where they once were, but was ( _pleasantly?_ ) surprised to discover them no longer there. Where could they have gone? There was nothing for miles, as far as he could tell.

 

No, no, he was hallucinating. They weren't real, that's why they were gone. Poe laughed morbidly to himself; what else could he do? Everything was completely fucked over sideways, but hey, he was still alive enough to hallucinate deranged Hoojibs trying to kill him.

 

Stretching his body, Poe was suddenly very aware of the warm, wet spot in his pant leg. He turned around to reach for the first aid kit, rummaging out the salve and the same roll of gauze. He unzipped the orange jumpsuit, shrugging the arms off yet again to inspect and rebandage his wound.

 

The air was a bit chillier this morning (w _as it morning? This planet seemed to have a very unusual light cycle_ ), so Poe reached for the thick knit, navy blue sweater that had somehow survived the crash. Unfortunately not unscathed, it now featured a lovely fist-sized hole through the backside, but warm just the same. He tugged it over his head, grimacing at the way it stuck to his greasy, curly hair, tucking it into the jumpsuit before zipping halfway up.

 

Unsure of just how long he had managed to sleep like that, Poe instinctually thought to check the shield time monitor, but the anxiety of seeing a less than ideal number got the better of him. He had less time than the last time he checked, that much he knew, and that wasn't much to begin with. It was do or die, he had no more time to waste.

 

Poe scarfed down a ration bar ( _mental note, 15 bars left_ ) and a generous helping of water before changing out of his jumpsuit and into the space suit he left laid over the bent ship wing, sweater tucked securely beneath it. The same pole he had used to free himself before sat just a few yards from where he slept, so he grabbed it to keep as a weapon and tucked it securely between the suit and the harness straps. He pulled on his helmet, hit the shield switch, and watched as the protective bubble flickered and disappeared around him.

 

He seriously hoped those creatures were hallucinations, right now.

 

The planet felt like a wasteland, with hardly any changes in ground level and a hazy, dull horizon that seemed to look just as far away no matter how far Poe thought he'd walked. Every so often he'd almost trip over a hunk of mangled metal sticking out of the sand, some appearing to be from other crashed ships, some he wasn't entirely sure of. Who else had been here? Where was the rest of their ships? Where were _they?_

 

The harrowing thought of them all having died with no rescue crossed his mind, but he fought to banish it.

 

He walked for what was probably hours, stopping every so often to give his leg a rest and just sit on the ground. His suit was covered in rusty stains from the sand, and the sweat inside his helmet seemed to build up infinitely. He pocketed bits of smashed up computers, and even a severed radio speaker piece that might be useful, although it looked severely dated.

 

Keeping straight, he whistled a tune to himself, doing his best to keep his spirits up. Sure, it would be easier to just lie down and give up. But this place didn't have Finn, and what good was that?

 

 

**/**

 

 

Helping out with sanitation duties was just about the most natural thing Finn could do around base. He wasn’t allowed to do much with his back still in the condition it was, but sitting and scrubbing at tiles or standing and mopping floors wasn’t too strenuous. It was sort of comforting, really, to be able to help out in some way and feel like he knew what he was doing. A lot was going on, and cleaning felt like the one thing that grounded him.

 

BB-8 followed him around most places he went, but occasionally the small droid would disappear somewhere else for a few hours until meeting back up again in Poe’s room. Finn wondered where it got to, but couldn’t exactly ask, so he learned to accept it as normal. Most everything felt abnormal still, but it was all positive really, so he went with it.

 

The absence of Poe, however, was not something that was easy to cope with. Waking up without him there only served as a grim reminder that _no one_ knew where he was, or if he was okay. Finn felt completely helpless yet again, something he was not happy about at all. He felt completely alone, without Poe, missing Rey, and no other familiar faces to turn to really. He was trying so hard to fit in, even hanging out with the other pilots when he could, but they reminded him too much of Poe, and it hurt to be with them for too long. Solitude brought waves of emotion he didn’t have any way of coping with, and he ended up crying like a child in Poe’s bed far more often than he’d like. Poe always knew how to comfort him, how to help him through any issues he was having, how to soothe the wounds he didn’t even know he had. How could he keep going like this without Poe there to help him?

 

On the third day of Poe’s absence, Finn had requested to record a message for Rey. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, and it took a lot of erasing and rerecording, but he managed to put together a simple message he hoped would bring a smile to Rey’s face during her training. Focusing on bringing happiness to others was a better distraction than just about anything else he’d tried.

 

 

 

 

> _Hi Rey, I’ve been missing you. How are things out Ahch-To? I was told you’re going to be a Jedi. That’s incredible! Is your training difficult? Are you really with THE Luke Skywalker? I’m so excited for you._
> 
> _I woke up about two months ago, but everything’s been so busy I haven’t really had the chance to ask about speaking to you. I hope you get this, I really want to hear from you._
> 
> _My back is mostly healed, but it still aches and I’m not really allowed to do much work. I have a cool scar, it’s really pale and goes across my entire back, it makes me look super battle-hardened, haha. I don’t know what happened exactly, but everyone says you fought Kylo Ren and saved me so, I have to say thank you. You’re so brave, I don’t know how you stood up to him like that. I can’t wait to see how amazing of a Jedi you’ll become._
> 
> _I love you. I’m only just getting used to saying that, but I know I care about you. You’re like family I’ve never had, I’m so grateful for meeting you._
> 
> _I hope to hear from you soon, I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing and what you’ve learned. Well, goodbye. May the force be with you, haha._
> 
> _But actually, don’t tell Luke I laughed. I know the force is serious business._

 

 

**/**

 

 

Just when he thought there was no other option but to turn back, Poe saw something in the distance. A shape, unclear, rising slightly from the sand. It looked about 3 or 4 meters tall, and he thought he saw something silver and reflective. His heart leapt out of his chest, and put what little energy he had left into sprinting for the distant shape, his mind racing with ideas of what it could be. Another crash? An abandoned ship with a working comm link? A house? Inhabitants of this planet?

 

His heavy boots sunk in and out of the sand, carrying him as fast he could muster towards the mystery.

 

"No." Poe clutched his chest, breathing heavily as he finally approached the form close enough to make out details. "No, no, _nonono..."_

 

It was his ship. His crashed X-Wing, the same crumpled heap of broken metal and smashed glass he'd been stuck in for the past three days.

 

 _"NO!_ What the fuck!" Poe bellowed, his own voice resounding painfully inside his helmet. He collapsed to his knees, the deep tissue ache of his injury resonating through his leg. Hot tears fell down his cheeks, gloved hands held uselessly to his helmet. He felt like such a fool, getting his hopes up, thinking he'd found something else.

 

Then again, how did he even manage to do a full circle without realizing it? He could have sworn he'd been walking in a straight line for the last hour, at least. Was he so loopy he lost his sense of direction? The thought of losing his mind was terrifying beyond belief.

 

Poe sniffed, blinking to try and rid his eyes of the tears he couldn't wipe away. His brain felt numb, overwhelmed with everything happening. How was he supposed to process this? Where even was he?

 

He kneeled on the ground for a while, breathing deeply as he made a mental list of what's happened to him so far.

 

Crashed on a deserted planet, fucked up his leg, and has limited atmospheric protection. He hallucinated demon Hoojibs, found parts of other crashed ships, and now somehow managed to walk a full circle without realizing it. Just what the hell was happening to him?

 

With the hazy sun setting at his back, he stood up, trudging back to the ship with whatever amount of scrap metal he could find tucked in his pockets, and whatever hope he had left reaching minuscule levels. The thought of never returning to Finn felt like a stone in his throat and gut, and every moment he spent alone only served to drive him closer to the edge. When he returned to the campsite, he enabled the shield, his eyes avoiding the ominous numbers on the screen, and dragged himself back to his pathetic sleeping area.

 

Stripping from his suit, he lay in a crumpled heap beneath his sleeping bag, unable to cry and stuck in a state of what felt like paralysis. The fear of the demonic Hoojibs returning clutched his brain in a vice, preventing him from sleeping for what felt like hours. Two ration bars later, Poe found himself falling into a fever dream-like state of exhaustion.


	6. Day 04.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Suns That Circling Go - Helios](https://youtu.be/N8i0FrxZnog)   
> 

The day began as pleasantly as any other, with the garbled voice of the atmospheric protection monitor declaring "THIRTY EIGHT HOURS REMAINING" with a crackle the sound of shorting electricity. Poe stirred from beneath his sleeping arrangements, poking his head out from the padded bag in which he was settled. Rising slowly and with little enthusiasm, he began his day with a ration bar and a large drink of water. With more water, more gauze, and plenty of cussing, he cleaned out and bandaged the wound in his thigh, tossing away the blood soaked gauze in disgust.

 

Poe sat in his jumpsuit and torn sweater, rubbing at his face as he stared at the same photograph of Finn, searching for motivation. In what little sleep he managed to have, he dreamt of Finn, of floating sunsets and flying home, but also of twisted Hoojibs and broken wings. Waking up to realize this situation was still very much real and happening did not makeanything easier.

 

He remembered his words to Finn before he left; "Four days," he'd said. "I’ll be home soon, I promise."

 

Poe buried his face in his palms, his head playing the memory of him saying "please don’t worry about me" on loop. All he could think about was how much Finn must be worrying now, and he didn't need any more stress like that in his life. This was day four, and he'd gone the entire time with no form of communication whatsoever. How was that supposed to make Finn feel? He must be worried sick, or think Poe doesn't want to speak with him, or something worse he doesn't even want to begin to imagine. The empty loneliness on this planet was enough to drive him to tears, but Finn has no one there to comfort him or help with his back.

 

The guilt eats away at Poe's gut, turning whatever drive he had left into determination. The thought of never seeing Finn again was nauseating, beyond any sort of fear of loss he's experienced before. One way or another, he was going to get off this kriffing awful planet, he had to be with Finn again, he couldn't leave him alone. Poe missed his warm smile, the way his face would light up at something new, how strong his arms and hands were, but how gentle he could be at the same time.

 

Frustrated with himself, he switched gears. Propping himself up on his palms and toes, Poe did as many push-ups as he could manage, counting out each one with focus. All attention on his breathing, his aching muscles, counting 34, 35, 36, 37... When he felt warm blood beginning to leak from his thigh again, he switched to his back, pulling up into crunches. The physical drain helped keep his mind off everything. Including the masochistic Hoojibs. And the fact that he was running out of oxygen. And the rather unsettling fact that he couldn't seem to get very far from his own crash site and keeps circling back unconsciously.

 

No. No those weren't on his mind, he was thinking of Finn. Finn and his perfectly not shy grin, Finn and his warm hands wrapped around Poe's, Finn and the way his deep voice rumbled through Poe's chest when they were close and just about to kiss and it makes his stomach leap up into his throat and—

 

Poe slammed his head back into the sleeping bag, smothering his face with dusty palms. "For _fucks_ sake..." he muttered to himself, ignoring the half hard presence in his jumpsuit where the zipper ended, wiping away the beginnings of tears. This wasn't exactly the time for any of this, he had to get moving.

 

Pulling himself together, Poe donned the spacesuit yet again, fastening the cracked and repaired helmet snugly over his head. He reached for the long durasteel piping, preparing for something, anything ( _hopefully not the Hoojibs, but who knows_ ), and prepared to turn off the timer.

 

**35:22:48**

 

His eyes glossed over for a moment, watching the last two numbers tick by so quickly it started to make him feel ill. He tore himself away the moment he managed to hit the switch, listening for the buzzing sound of the shield disengaging, fading away from the top down until he was no longer protected.

 

Flexing his grip, Poe stepped across the rust-toned sand yet again, heading the opposite direction from his last venture out. He walked quickly at first, creating as much distance as he could between him and the far too familiar wreckage of his X-Wing. The majority of the ground was clear here, not as much leftover shrapnel from unknown crash landings. His eyes scanned over the ground, unsure of what he was looking for. Maybe he just needed something else to focus on to pretend he wasn't giving up. It was better than doing nothing, not that it really seemed to be helping much.

 

He paced in zig zags, forming a strange path of deep foot prints behind him, whistling nothing in particular to himself.

 

And then he heard it.

 

A quiet thump behind him, unsettling in itself as he _hoped_ he was all alone on this bizarrely quiet planet. He spun around, finding nothing but open air and the distant form of his ship. He turned back around slowly, cursing himself for how quickly he seemed to be losing his grip on reality.

 

Hissing, a blur of teeth and fur launched at his helmet, the sound of pin-point sharp claws scraping down the glass. Poe flung his hands up in automatic defence, his own screams echoing inside the helmet. Falling backwards, the thing attacking his head made bizarre sounds he had no reference for. It sounded like three different voices yelling at once in different pitches, its limbs flailing wildly as it scrambled over the glass to his body. With one swift motion of his arm, Poe whipped the creature off, leapt to his feet, grabbed the pipe with both hands, and swung blindly. The metal hit dirt, and he opened his eyes to find the misshapen pupils of the Hoojib wide and locked as it sprinted towards him. Taking a few steps back, he swung again, his teeth clacking together at the impact of metal against bone. The rampaging fur monster appeared unfazed, leaping at him with a wide screeching mouth full of teeth. Poe swung frantically, swearing loudly as his blood ran cold with fear, smashing repeatedly into the small, furry body attacking him. The reverberating impact of steel against flesh and bone was sickening, and Poe had trouble keeping himself from vomiting on the spot.

 

"Fuck! What the fuck! Why the hell won't you fucking die? Fuck, fuck, _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..."_

 

With one swift swing downward, he finally managed to crack the skull, its body falling limp against the sand. Poe panted heavily, hands gripped tightly around the pipe while his whole body shook violently. He stared wide-eyed at the broken body of blood-stained white fur and teeth, his skin crawling with disgust, fear, panic, and some form of guilt he couldn't help. His head whipped around to check over his shoulder, jaw tight with anticipation of more.

 

Nothing. At least not yet. The planet fell sharply silent yet again, not even a breeze to bring noise to this vastly barren place.

 

Exhaling with shaking breath, Poe attempted to return to his search, his hands still quaking where they remained raised, clutching the pipe like a lifeline.

 

 

**/**

 

 

“He’s supposed to come back today.” Finn poked at the food on his tray, trying to convince himself of an appetite.

 

“Dameron? Yeah, I know. He’ll probably be back soon—”

 

“He’s made no contact with the base. No one knows where he is. He’s not on Ithor, he never made it.” Finn huffed, frustrated having to even say it aloud.

 

“Uh,” Snap cleared his throat, trying to ease Finn’s tension. “Yeah, I heard about that. Maybe something else came up, but I’m sure he’s fine… Right, Jess?”

 

"For sure. He's done this before, you know," Jessika Pava said reassuringly, patting Finn on the back through his patched up leather jacket. "I know Dameron, he's not so easily taken down. I don’t know when we’ll hear from him, but I’m sure we will.”

 

Finn gave a small smile, folding his hands in his lap and bowing his head. “Sorry. I’m trying really hard to assume the best, but…”

 

“But it’s never easy when it’s someone you care about,” Snap smiled back. “Or someone you love. I understand, man, I totally do. But there’s not much we can do for now. And, as shitty as it is to say, this is war. That is, this is what happens.”

 

“I know, I’ve lost friends before,” Finn sighed. “But I watched it, I saw them go. I don’t… I don’t like this, this… not knowing anything. I wish he’d send some sort of sign, anything, just a blip to say he’s alive.”

 

Jessika shrugged. “He would if he could, kid.”

 

Snap shot a glaring look across the table, silently scolding her for making it sound like he was in trouble. “What she means is, he’s probably just being precautionary, staying low for now, y’know?”

 

“Sure,” Finn took a drink from the grey plastic cup, setting it back down a little too hard. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s… it’s fine. _It’s cool._ I’m sure he’s fine.”

 

 

**/**

 

 

With an ungraceful whump into the sand, Poe found him stumbling over something large and clunky buried beneath him. It sounded metallic, a tinny clank breaking the silence as his boot collided with whatever it was.

 

Resting on his knees, he dusted away the top layer, searching for some way to grip the blocky object and lift it from the sand. A curved piece of polished metal resembling a handle stuck out along one side, practically asking Poe to pull it up. As he revealed more if it, he noticed the body was painted a grey-beige colour, although it appeared to be chipping quite badly, and it had a large perforated speaker piece with industrial screws holding it in place. Whatever it was, it was large and heavy, close to 1.5 feet long and at least 50 lbs.

 

Exerting the force in his legs, he pulled back, freeing the entire box from the depths of where it remained rather stubbornly buried. A radio; it was an old comm radio from a ship, almost completely intact. Poe whooped to himself, hoping, praying for the best. There was very little chance it still had any power left, but maybe he could get it in a decent working order. He noticed a label or name plate fastened below the speaker, but the lettering was eroded beyond legibility. There was some sort of long black switch and a key slot below it. Adjacent to that, another row of smaller buttons; red, a dial, and a small gold switch. There was a flat plate fastened on with two large bolts beside the speaker, which he assumed was for maintenance purposes, and a second handle. This thing was meant to be carried, and carried it would be, right back to the campsite.

 

The walk back was a bit of a struggle, with Poe switching back and forth between lugging the awkwardly large box and dragging it in the sand to spare his leg, not to mention keeping an eye out for any more unfriendly inhabitants. Deep crimson was starting to leak through the suit, making him move a little faster to try and get back to the med kit before he tore the healing skin again. By the time he made it back to the ship, the sun was high in the sky, casting its gloomy discoloured light over the barren plant. Poe tried to not let it get to him, but the difference just made him think of home, of Yavin-4 or D'Qar. He missed regular sunshine, blue skies and warm breezes, not this horribly depressing, vacant place.

 

Setting the newly found radio down, he re-activated the protective shield, noting the numbers flashing **32:26:51** on the screen. He removed the helmet and suit, carefully peeling the fabric away from the bleeding wound in his thigh, and sat down to clean it out once again. Dressed in his filthy orange jumpsuit, Poe got back to the radio, hoping with every fibre of his being that he could make it work somehow.

 

He crouched down, sitting cross-legged in front of it as he prepared to do his best to make it work. He began by shaking it out, pouring a generous amount of fine red sand from every crack and crevasse inside. Placing it back down, he flipped the large black switch, praying it did something. The machine spluttered and flickered to life, a small green light flickering on, loud and random bursts of static coming forth from he perforated speaker.

 

 _"Yes!_ Yes, oh my _gods, yes!"_ Poe screamed aloud, his eyes beginning to water with relief. Hands trembling with excitement, he pressed the red button, hearing the low tone as he held it down. Quickly realizing it was for sending morse code, he began tapping out the pattern he had always hoped he'd never have to use.

 

Quickly, one, two, three...

**. . .**

 

Then three long,

**—  
**

 

With a defeated click, the internal hum of the machine faded to silence, no longer responding to the press of the red button.

 

"What? _No!_ No, no, no! No you fucking piece of shit, no..." Poe shook the box violently, flicking the large black switch back and forth, praying for any sign of life. The radio remained the same, mocking him in silence.

 

Poe sobbed again for what felt like the billionth time.


	7. Day 04.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Nannou - Aphex Twin](https://youtu.be/GHnYGVrWhio)   
> 

With what little energy he had left, Poe sobbed heavily into his sleeves, hiccuping as he struggled bring the tears to an end. Everything was against him, it no longer just felt like it, it was just a fact at this point. He would die here, simple as that. No one would ever know where he was, Finn would never know where he went, he'd never get back to the base, nothing could save him now. The air he had left would be all he'd ever breathe, and it was already starting to feel thinner. He had, what, 32 hours left? Enough time to write a will and thoroughly panic himself before accepting his fate and asphyxiating. Poe always had a feeling he would die young somehow, but he didn't think like this, this felt undignified. He imagined getting gunned down by a TIE fighter, or force choked by Kylo Ren, or even death by Stormtrooper firing squad would be preferable to this. A quiet death alone on a deserted planet, how quaint.

 

As Poe contemplated his inevitable death, he considered his mostly but not entirely destroyer X-Wing. The shield, it had power from the ship. By some miracle, the ships power source had survived the crash enough to supply power to the atmospheric shield, which meant there was some way to gather power it for other things. If he could, and kriffing hell he had better, find a way to connect to the ship, he could siphon the remaining power into the radio and send a distress signal. Poe practically leapt off his spot on the ground, his heart racing. This was seriously it, if he had ANY chances left, this was his last one, and there was no way he was wasting it. He had no idea how long it would take or how hard it would be, but he had to do it. Rubbing sweaty palms over his face and through his hair, he pulled himself together.

 

"Come on, don't fuck it up now, Dameron. Put that cadet training to use." He said aloud, doing his best to use his commanding officer tone.

 

He went to his stockpile of remaining food supplies, quickly scarfing down a ration bar and gulping some water. Eleven, that was all he had left, and about one and a half litres of water. If he failed, he'd die of starvation, dehydration, or suffocation either way. Even more motivation to not fuck it up.

 

  1. First, he has to find a tool of some sort to pry open the front panel of the radio.
  2. He has to figure out how the hell it works so he isn't just randomly jamming wires into sockets and hoping it does something.
  3. He has to make sure it all stays joined together and doesn't just fall apart and stop working.
  4. And finally, he has to wait patiently for however long it takes to either be found or die.



 

All easier said than done. Poe grit his teeth and got to work, hunting for something thin enough to wedge under the radio panel. The anxiety of his limited time was more than distracting, but the fear of not succeeding to get off of the planet was much, _much_ worse. He searched for something, anything, even remotely close to a crowbar, though that was more than a long shot. Sifting through piles of splintered metal and glass with shaking hands, Poe moved as quickly as he could manage, until it struck him; the med kit must have something, even the forceps might work.

 

He rushed to the tin box, pulling off the lid and dumping the contents out onto his sleeping bag; gauze, medics tape, salve, muscle relaxants, alcohol swabs, forceps, and tweezers. He pocketed the tape for later, deciding to try the forceps first. Rushing back over to the radio, he wedged the curved metal between the edge of the panel and the body, forcing down with all his strength, watching the bend of the metal, and--

 

_SNAP_

 

The handle of the forceps broke right off, flying out of the small space of the radio and past his shoulder.

 

"Fucking.... _fuck_. Are you kidding me..." Poe groaned, scrubbing a sweaty palm over his stubbly face and sweeping back oily, dark curls that clung to his forehead. He thought for a moment, considering the tweezers as a means of undoing the screws keeping the panel in place. That could work, right?

 

Grabbing them from the pile, he returned to the device and attempted to loosen the screws. Surprisingly, the flat, wide of the tweezers fit perfectly into the indents, and worked as a screwdriver to pull them right out. Poe laughed to himself, a little hysterical, amazed that _something_ was actually working in his favour.

 

Pulling the chipped grey panel off, he set the screws aside and inspected the guts of the radio. It was full of wires, organized in neat bundles intersecting across electronic chip boards and other pieces he wasn't familiar with. What he did recognize, however, was the battery pack four wires were running in one end of, and out the other.

 

Poe carried the open radio over to the battered X-Wing console, setting it aside before gripping the dented metal and tearing the dashboard panel off with all the strength he had. It wasn't easy, but he managed to bend and pull to back enough to reveal the even more complex wiring behind it.

 

Crouching down, he carefully tugged out the wires entering the battery on both ends, doing his best to keep the ends as in tact as possible. Returning to the larger, open console, Poe rummaged through carefully to find where a connection to the power source might be.

 

 _"SHIT!_ " Poe recoiled as his fingers received a rather nasty, sharp electric shock. "I guess I found it..."

 

It dawned on him that he'd need to shut down the power to be able to connect the two devices. What concerned him was the idea of powering down the only thing keeping him alive, messing around with the electrics, and then praying to the force that it all comes back on when he's done. There was a very high chance he might just break the entire thing, and end up completely fucked with no oxygen and no chance of being rescued. On the other hand, sitting in this limited air bubble with no functioning radio was about equally as horrible. As conflicting as it was, he knew he really didn't have any other choice. It was do or die. Or die or die, depending on how things go. Not the greatest thought to have at the moment...

 

Poe went back to where his spacesuit lay in a heap, pulling off his filthy orange flightsuit and stepping back into the grey and orange protective material. He made sure to grab the tape from the pocket before zipping up and fastening the helmet back on. He returned to the console power switch, taking note of the blinking numbers.

 

**31:42:18**

 

Bracing himself for at least one of the riskiest stunts of his life, he scrunched his eyes shut and mumbled a small prayer into the silence surrounding his campsite.

 

"Please, may the force, or anything else really, please, be with me. _Please let this work._ Let me live to tell this story, let me get home, get back to Finn, get back to my bed. _Please."_

 

With all the hesitancy of a man with a death sentence, Poe reached out a shaking, gloved hand and flicked off the switch, listening to the hum of the power source wean off into silence, the numbers on the shield panel disappearing into black. The barrier overhead faded away, the murky sky a little more clear. He worried about the Hoojibs returning, but he knew all he could do to avoid them for now is work quickly.

 

Hustling back to the open ship console, Poe leapt into action, hands thrusted back into the open panel to the same place he got shocked. He looked in as best he could through the darkness, sporting a large black cylinder with wires practically pouring out of it just within reach, and a few unused sockets along one side. With trembling but careful fingers, he pried one of the socket coverings off. Picking the radio back up, he maneuvered it into the open space of the dashboard, pulling the loose wires free with his spare hand. Sweat dripped down his forehead, though he's unfortunately unable to wipe it away through the helmet. Steeling his nerves, Poe pulled the wires up and out of the radio body, connecting them to the open socket inside the ship. With one hand holding the heavy box, he hurriedly shoved his hand back into his suit pocket for the tape, pulling a piece out and ripping it clumsily. No time to be precise, he sealed it as neatly as he could around the intersection of bundle of wires and the new power source. It took a few more pieces, and maybe a little extra just to be sure, until Poe leaned back and observed his handiwork. It look sloppy and definitely wouldn't hold up were this ship flying, but it isn't and none of that matters right now.

 

What matters is hoping to some invisible force that the power turns back on and doesn't short out the radio, or the entire system. Poe stood and walked back a few paces to the power switch, the blackened shield time panel hanging loosely beside it. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the black handle, gripping it tightly for a moment and then throwing it back down. His stomach felt like it might drop out of his body as he listened for the sound of electricity coming back on again, the moment of silence before it nearly killing him. And...

 

There it was. A quiet whirring sound, and then something clunking into place, followed by the familiar sound of the shield regenerating, forming around him from the top down.

 

 _"Yeah baby!_ Hell yeah! Yes, oh my gods, _yes!_ Holy shit!" Pumping his fists into the air, Poe did a tiny victory dance, he deserved this much.

 

Darting back over to the console, he could feel his face practically cracking with his grin as the sound of popping static became louder. The radio was alive, and by some miracle not shorting out from the new power source. Poe practically fell to his knees, reaching back into the dented panel to get at the now functioning comm system. The larger black switch powered it on, but the small gold switch seemed to be an on/off switch for a repeater, although the label had been rubbed off. With his right arm bent awkwardly into the open dashboard, he flicked it to the right, then moved his hand to the large red button.

 

S . . .

 

O _ _ _

 

S . . .

 

The radio beeped out the pattern along with his finger, then after a short pause, began repeating it back. Through the fuzzy static from the sand-filled speaker, the makeshift comm link beeped out SOS repeatedly, sending the signal out, finally, finally, to someone who might hear it. Poe knew the Resistance had ensigns working around the clock monitoring nearby traffic and any incoming signals, so he hoped ( _and buddy, that was a big hope_ ), someone in that control room would see it.

 

An unwelcome disruption to his thoughts breaks the silence, beeping from behind him. The shield panel was flashing, an alarm-like sound of five beeps, and then the automated voice; _“SYSTEM ENERGY REROUTED, RECALCULATING”._

 

Poe felt his heart stop, cold dread washing over him. He’d done it, he’d fucked up the power and was about to lose the shield, he was dead, he was so totally fucked.

 

_“TWENTY TWO HOURS, AND COUNTING, REMAINING.”_

 

Poe practically collapsed, he exhaled so hard. Less time was still beyond stressful, but it was sure as kriff better than immediate death.

 

After a moment of calming his fried nerves, and simply enjoying the sound of the functioning radio, Poe returned to his sleeping area. He gathered up the sleeping bag, med kit, ration bars, remaining water, and pulled it all to sit right by the radio. He wanted to be close to it, to hear the steady rhythm of its morse code signal, to be reminded he’d done all he could.

 

He stripped from the spacesuit, shivering against the chilly air in just his sweat-stained t-shirt and boxers, and pulled his orange jumpsuit back on. Sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, he would just have to wait.

 

And wait.

 

 

And wait.

 

 

**/**

 

 

It’s late, sometime after 2300 hours, and a lone ensign tilts back in her seat in the control centre. She sips caf idly, mind elsewhere with eyes barely focused on the screens. The room is dark, her face lit only by the glowing blue monitors in front of her.

 

A blip, barely bringing her out of her daydream.

 

A message, spelled out in morse code.

 

S O S

 

She leans forward, checking the coordinates of the signal on the radar screen.

 

S O S

 

The General had given specific instructions to every ensign on duty to keep their eyes open for any unusual signs, signals, or spacecrafts. If they were to spot anything out of the ordinary, _especially_ if it looked related to the Resistance. There were coordinates, and there was definitely a signal, but the system map was vacant where they radiated from. No planets, no ships, no moons, nothing.

 

This was definitely unusual.


	8. Day 05.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Send and Receive - Tycho](https://youtu.be/5DNVSHm5zr4)   
> 

The control room had quickly become busy, filling up with the days scheduled workers and the usual chatter. General Organa had been alerted to the acquired signal, but elected to keep it quiet until they had further information regarding its origin and intent. Patiently waiting nearby, she attempted to keep tabs on everything else that was going on around her. The control room was a busy place, and the General often found herself spending most of her time there.

 

“Ma’am…”Junior Controller Connix stared perplexed at the readings she had before her.

 

“Yes, do you still have the signal?” General Organa paced across the room to Connix.

 

“I do, but, uh,” Connix cleared her throat. “It’s not behaving normally.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I can’t locate it. There’s nothing in that quadrant, it’s… empty.”

 

“Excuse me? Are you sure?”

 

“Positive, General. The signal appears to be coming from a vacant location, there isn’t so much as a ship pinging from that area. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

 

General Organa leaned over the console, investigating the radar image herself. There it was, or rather, wasn’t. An empty space where the signal appeared to be coming from, nothing within a massive radius around it. “We’re sending out a squadron to investigate.”

 

The Junior Controller looked hesitant, anxious about the risk of it being a hoax created by the First Order. “It could be a trick, it might be dangerous—”

 

“Connix, our best pilot is missing and we received an SOS. I know it seems risky, but we have to do our best to find him."

 

“Yes, General.”

 

"And locate Mister Finn for me, would you? He needs to hear about this."

 

"Absolutely."

 

 

/

 

 

Finn walked slowly into the control centre, anxiety plastered on his face, BB-8 rolling closely behind him.

 

"Oh good, Finn, come over here," the General beckoned him over with a wave of her hand. "We have some information I think you'd like to see."

 

Finn approached, his chest already blooming with optimism. "Have you found Poe?"

 

"Perhaps. I don't want to say anything for certain just yet, but we might have." She pointed up to the blue holo projection of the Illenian system as it zoomed in to a strangely vacant space. "We're receiving a signal from this location. An SOS, to be more specific. The strength is weak and slightly broken, but we're able to make out that it's a distress signal."

 

"It's him," Finn stated, very sure of himself. "It has to be."

 

"Son, not to dash your hopes, but there are other people in this great big galaxy that might be in trouble. That is to say, we certainly are hoping it's him, too. The only thing is," she paced around the console, pressing a finger to a small button that brought up an information panel alongside the projection. "It isn't from our own equipment, or an X-Wing of any sort. It looks as if it's coming from a much older radio comm system, which would explain the poor signal strength." General Organa sighed, passing a hand over her face. “I’m really not sure if it's Commander Dameron, but we're investigating just the same to be sure. We're doing everything we can."

 

Finn stood dumbfoundedly, eyes glued to the blank spot in the glowing blue in front of him, signal lines radiating from it and fading away into nothingness. The need for it to be Poe was so strong, he couldn't imagine the disappointment he'd feel if it turned out not to be. The small droid bumped into his feet, beeping sadly while looking up at the map.

 

"I know, I miss him too," Finn looked down at the droid, then back to General Organa. "Is there anything I, or, we, can do to help?"

 

"For now, just sit tight. I know that won't be easy, but we want to plan out our options before we start making any strategical decisions."

 

"I understand." Finn looked down at BB-8 before heading back towards the exit. He sighed, trying his best to remain optimistic while also not getting his hopes up; what a contradicting way to feel.

 

He worked his way back to their room, heart aching for someone to tell him it would all be fine, that Poe would make it back just as he always did. The way he’d soar down in his Black One X-Wing, leaping from the cockpit to pull his helmet off with a flourish, his curls bouncing out and his perfect, toothy grin spread ear to ear. Finn sat down on the cot, thinking about the way Poe would tug him into a warm but chaste hug, hands patting firmly down his back, familiar voice close to the shell of his ear.

 

BB-8 seemed to sigh as it rolled across the room aimlessly, unsure of what to do with itself.

 

“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want, BB. I’m not going to do much right now.” Finn gave his best attempt at a smile, though he had a feeling it didn’t look very convincing.

 

The small droid chirped something that sounded comforting, or at least Finn wanted to believe it was, before rolling over to settle beside him, tilting its head towards his knee. It stayed there, just quietly resting against Finn’s legs. He wasn’t sure what to say, but felt like it was almost Poe reaching out to comfort him. He struggled, and failed, to not cry, but did his best to remind himself that this could be good news. He hoped it was good news.

 

 

**/**

 

 

The sky overhead looked hazy and distorted, or maybe it was because he'd been looking at it for too long. Poe lay on his back, limbs starfished out at his sides as he stared endlessly into the sky, doing his best to distract himself. The wound in his thigh ached, stressed from the physical effort it took to get the radio working, but fortunately not bleeding again. Focusing on the physical pain somehow felt easier and even preferable than contemplating his ever-nearing demise. He ran thoughts back and forth through his head, closing his eyes to focus on memories; flying endlessly in his X-Wing, sitting with Finn when he woke up from his coma, sitting outside in the grass back home. He tried to distract himself with ridiculous mental debates, but he could only contemplate who would win in a fantasy fist fight between General Hux and his mother for so long.

 

Poe sat up, reaching for his guitar while purposefully looking away from the timer just ahead of him. He turned his back to it, positioning himself to play a song. His fingers found the chords, but it was a struggle to find the notes in his mind, it felt blank and wrought with worry. Poe tried his best anyway, strumming empty chords that lead to no song, hoping the notes might turn into a tune, but the twitching got worse instead of better, his humming turned into anxious mumbles, and his body didn't know how to keep still. The not-knowing was eating away at him, and solitude made for a terrible friend.

 

Despite the way his hands shook, Poe managed to come up with one last attempt that might help him get noticed.

 

 

**/**

 

 

The day had barely started, but technicians and commanding staff were filtering in and out of the control centre like it was a parade. Every console was lit up with the same map, planning their best strategy. Plotting out a covert rescue/retrieval was easy enough, they’d done it before. Attempting to rescue a vital member of their X-Wing division from an invisible, unknown location, while remaining unseen by the First Order ( _when they weren’t even sure he wasn’t being held by them in the first place_ ), was a different scale of mission all together.

 

”General!" Junior Controller Connix spun around in her chair, ponytail flinging behind her as she leapt out to alert the General as to her new finding. Tugging off her headset, she took a deep breath. "The signal, it's changed, it's—"

 

"Changed? How?" General Organa folded her arms, her mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusion.

 

"It's not just 'SOS' anymore, it started alternating," Connix inhaled, a wide smile spreading across her face. "It’s sending out ‘F—I—N—N’ now, too."

 

General Organa tightened her lips to suppress her relieved, and slightly bemused, smile. "You _must_ be kidding, Dameron..."

 

Admiral Statura joined them, his voice just as optimistic as Connix's. "We have to send someone out _now_ , correct?"

 

"Yes, _now_ we can. We can't draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves, but we'll send out as many people as needed. Arrange a squadron, along with Poe's team." The General sighed, thankful to know he was alive, even if the location still remained a mystery. Twisting the ring on her finger, she paced back to where she sat, looking over the mess of written out plans and maps. "And get Finn again, he will no doubt want to be here for this."

 

 

**/**

 

 

The moment the word was given, the hangar was quickly about as busy as when there was an attack, pilots and medical staff rushing to prepare for takeoff. The other X-Wing pilots were on standby, waiting patiently beside their ships as everyone else hurried by.

 

"You must be feeling better, huh?" Jessika smiled, tying her dark hair back as she spoke.

 

"Yeah, well, mostly." Finn shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say. BB-8 rolled tensely beside him, bumping into his shins occasionally.

 

"They found your boyfriend, shouldn't you be happy?"

 

"They  _think_ they found Poe, we don't actually know it's him for sure," Finn grimaced. "Or if he's okay."

 

"I'm sure he's fine, Finn. Who else would spell out your name alongside an SOS?" Snap gave him a reassuring smile, something he always seemed to be good at. "I'm sure he's just hanging out, waiting for us to come get him."

 

"Why? He crashed, he's probably—" BB-8 chirped indignantly, it's head snapping to stare daggers at Jess. "Yeah, he's fine, _sure_. Our best pilot, and all that."

 

Finn did his best to not look as distressed as he was, but the exchanged looks of concern on the other pilots faces made it obvious he wasn't doing a very good job. "I really want to believe it's nothing, but the empty spot on the map is uh—"

 

" _Not exactly_ the most comforting thing to see, I agree. But, " Snap grabbed his helmet from the shelf where it was resting, pulling it over his head and flipping the visor down. "We'll find him."

 

Jessika did the same, smiling as she zipped her flightsuit up and fastened the collar shut. "We'll do our best, kid."

 

Finn smiled back at her, glancing down at BB-8 as it looked up at him. "Wish I had something better to say, but I'm just as worried as you are."

 

They both stood back as the pilots climbed into their X-Wings, the top of the cockpit closing down and sealing with a hiss. The engines started up with a roar, the hangar filled with the deafening drone of engines each ship drove out onto the tarmac to take off.

 

A reassuring hand touched Finn's back, prompting him to turn around. General Organastood wearing an equally tense expression, though her eyes were soft. "I know what it's like to love someone that always seems to be in dangerous situations. I always hated watching him leave. Whatever happens, I want you to know you can talk to me." She took Finn's hand in her own, smoothing a thumb over his skin.

 

"Thank you, General." Never having had this sort of gesture offered towards him, Finn didn't really know if he responded in the right way. But based on her expression, he figured it must have been fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this up, I've been so busy lately lol. More soon!


	9. Day 5.02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Await - Balam Acab](https://youtu.be/oc_oCu5x6_8)   
> 

Coarse sand and grit pelted the shield mercilessly as the sky around Poe faded to a gloomy, murky deep green. A sandstorm had started while he had managed to drift off into something resembling sleep, startling him awake and sending him into another anxiety attack. This routine was certainly something he was growing very sick of. Poe gave up on getting back to sleep and watched the storm rage around him instead. It was strange, to say the least, to sit safely ( _or as safe as he was for now_ ) in the centre of a storm and just watch it pass by. However, the thought of the shield running out and dying of both suffocation and the pain of being in the middle of a sandstorm was far from comforting.

 

Poe glanced behind himself at the small screen propped up against the wreckage. He's unsure of what numbers he was hoping it would display, but the sight of **16:22:56** disappoints him just the same. Sitting up, he decided to indulge in some oh-so luxurious ration bars and a small helping of water. He felt completely disgusting; wounded, starving, filthy, and barely rested enough to function. The dark sky flickered with rusty sand overhead as he tried his best to keep from crying with a mouthful of dehydrogenated protein bar. Poe took the note he wrote to Finn out of his pocket, reading it over one more time before deciding to write another one. Grabbing his notebook, he thought about all the things he wished he could say, not just to Finn, but everyone he'd never see again. Gods, that was a morbid thought. And yet here he was, watching the time tick by in hours, not years.

 

 

 

> _To_

 

Poe sighed at himself as his hand quivered over the page, pen unsure of what to write.

 

 

 

> _To the Resistance, my family, Finn, Jess, Wexley_

 

He sighed again, scribbling out the previous line.

 

 

 

> _To everyone._
> 
> _I’m sorry things went as kriffing ass-backwards as they did. I never thought I’d end up like this, but I guess it was sort of inevitable. I wish I could have at least completed my task. I wish I_
> 
>  

What _did_ he wish for? It was almost simpler than getting home, at this point. Poe just wanted to maybe _not die_ not knowing. He wanted to at least be able to make sure Finn got his note, that the mission would be completed, that everything would be okay. But he felt reality creeping into his chest, and knew he had no choice but to accept it.

 

> _I wish I could see the way things will be. I know the First Order can be taken down without me, I just wish I could see it happen._
> 
> _I love you all._

 

Poe signed his name as neatly as he could manage, not wanting it to look like he was losing his mind ( _though that wasn’t exactly far from the truth_ ). Folding the paper, and then his hands over his lap, Poe closed his eyes and began doing his best to make peace. He prayed to The Force, to whatever he could, that everything would be okay, even if he wasn’t meant to be a part of it.

 

 

**/**

 

 

X-Wings screamed in unison as they switched into warp speed to reach their destination, every pilot checking in with each other.

 

“This is Blue Squadron leader checking in,” Wexley buzzed in over the comm. "Everyone ready?"

 

“Roger that!" Jessika chirped back. “Blue Three prepared for search and rescue."

 

Ello Asty added himself to the roster, "Blue Two reporting in!"

 

"Alright, waiting on direction from head base and then we move fast, and I mean fast. We don't have time to waste and we certainly cannot be making a big show of this. It's get in, get out, go home. Got it?"

 

"Got it."

 

"Roger."

 

"Okeydokey folks." Wexley flicked the comm to the Resistance base wave length. "General Organa, Blue Squadron is ready at your signal. Do we have orders?"

 

The intercom in the Resistance base crackled to life, Leia standing by ready to receive it.

 

"Yes Captain Wexley. We're sending your squadron the coordinates now. However," Leia cleared her throat. "We still don't know what you're going to find out there. It looks like whatever is sending the signal is heavily cloaked. It’s not appearing on our radars, so we can't prepare you. We have medical teams standing by, but... well.”

 

“We’re going in blind, got it.” Wexley adjusted his helmet one last time, checking the small console screen on the dashboard of his X-Wing. “I have the coordinates.”

 

“Then let’s get right to it, shall we?”

 

“Yes ma’am.” Wexley signalled the rest of the team to follow his lead, preparing to exit warp, and steering himself for whatever was ahead of them.

 

The moment their ships came to a halt, they found themselves in the middle of a meteor field. Quite literally, with the wing of Wexley's ship appearing to disappear into the side of one of the rocks, and the front of Ello's completely hidden inside of another.

 

"Well this is something," Jess scoffed over the comm. "Holo-meteors? That's a new one."

 

"Some kind of shitty 'Keep Out' sign, is my guess."

 

"But where are they being projected from?"

 

"The signal w _e are intended to focus on_ is just ahead, let's move on, shall we?" Ello implored the rest of the squad, his voice sounding only slightly impatient.

 

Blue Squadron moved on, their vision compromised by the facade of floating debris around them, but doing their best to keep an eye out for anything else that could possibly be a sign of Poe. As they coasted through the holo-projected meteors, they appeared to glitch and seize, twitching in an almost unsettling way as they clipped through the X-Wings.

 

The strangest sight waited before them, as the last of the meteors vanished. What appeared to be only a small, floating chunk of ground, almost perfectly square and not very big in any direction.

 

"A terra-plane?!" Jess gasped incredulously. "A cloaked... a kriffing terra-plane."

 

"Who the hell still makes these?" Wexley automatically went to check his console for any information on the bizarre phenomenon, but was disappointed when he remembered they still couldn't get a read on it existing at all.

 

"Are we sure this isn't holographically projected as well?" Ello attempted to be a voice of reason.

 

"Well the only way to find out is probably landing on it," Jess said a little too confidently. "I volunteer, I wanna check this shit out."

 

"Hold on, don't get too excited, we don't know anything about this yet." Wexley shook his head, unsure of what to do. "I'm calling this in to the General."

 

Jess pouted. "Spoil sport."

 

Wexley switched his comm back to Resistance base. “We’ve found something.”

 

“Yes?” The General’s voice crackled through.

 

Wexley paused for a moment, considering how this might alarm others that were listening nearby. “Well, it’s a terra-plane, of some sort. A… rather square chunk of land.”

 

The control room exchanged confused glances, gasps, and a few frustrated murmurs. The General hushed them quickly, turning her attention back to the comm. Without any sort of visual read on the area, the best she could do is ask for him to expand. “What do you see? Is there anything on it?”

 

“Well it’s,” Wexley squinted, eyes combing over the red sand, looking for any sort of defined shape, but it appeared to be storming too badly for anything to be noticeable. “It’s a dry sand environment, probably has no atmosphere, and it’s kicking up a lot of dirt. Some kind of artificial weather simulator, maybe?”

 

“Do you have a plan?”

 

“That’s why we’re contacting you, we want to be sure how to proceed. Jess has, _ever so_ graciously volunteered to land on it.”

 

The General smirked. “Of course she has. Well, do _you_ think it’s safe? Remember we can’t see anything from here, Captain.”

 

“I know, ma’am. It might be, but we encountered holo-projected asteroids around the area, which is leading us to believe it may be a trick of some kind as well.”

 

“Do you detect any life?”

 

“Unfortunately, even at this distance our sensors are completed distorted.”

 

Silence for a moment as Leia thought to herself. It sounded bizarre, and possibly risky, but they weren’t exactly there unprepared; anything that happened could more than likely be taken care of. “Alright, I’ll give her the green light and we’ll watch closely. Be ready for anything.”

 

“Of course, General.”

 

Removing her finger from the transmission button, the General turned to Connix. “Make sure mister Finn knows about this, have him brought here.”

 

Back in her X-Wing, Jessika’s comm lit up ( _as did her face_ ) when she received confirmation to attempt landing on the surface. “Alrighty boys! I’ll try to make it easy for you, but keep your eyes sharp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I finally updated. I PROMISED myself I would finish this story, and I'll be damned if I don't.


	10. Day 5.03: Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Jessika…?”_ Poe mumbled blearily, already assuming it was another trick of the eyes. “Jess? Jessika!” Practically leaping to his feet, he felt so much relief rushing over him he almost didn’t notice the sharp shooting pain in his thigh. _Almost._ “Oh fuck, not _now._ ” 
> 
>  
> 
> “Poe! Are you okay? Let me in! Let’s get out of here! Everyone’s waiting!”
> 
>  
> 
> Rushing to collect himself, Poe grabbed for the atmospheric suit, zipping it up as he stumbled forward. He felt high, his brain barely keeping up with his eyes. “Wait, how…. How do I know you’re real?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ten Days Of Falling - Shlohmo](https://youtu.be/IzdHGEDbVrY)   
> 

Sharp, deep red sand pinged the glass of Jessika’s X-Wing as she landed carefully, keeping her eyes peeled for anything that might appear to be Poe. “Can you read me, guys?”

 

Jess’s voice crackled pathetically over the intercom speaker, already sounding distant and distorted.

 

“Just barely,” Ello responded as clearly as he could, unsure if she would have just as much trouble hearing them. “There appears to be a large amount of interference from your end. Do you copy?”

 

_“Sss…. ba— ere app….. dis…. co-py?”_

 

Jess shook her head, her comm popping and clicking with the barely audible response. “The comm system is not working,” she loudly over enunciated. “Do not attempt further contact for now.” Fastening her helmet tightly, she opened the hatch of her ship just enough to crawl out the side.

 

Her feet planted firmly on the ground, Jess squinted and looked around her. The dirt flying is more than enough to make it hard to even see five feet in front of herself, but she tried her best. Moving slowly through the storm, Jess braced herself against the elements. She was tempted to shout out, call for Poe by name, but it felt pretty pointless in the howling wind.

 

That’s when she saw it.

 

A hazy dome shape not that far, close enough she could walk to it. Hustling, Jess made her way over to the shape, noticing how the edges seemed to flicker in and out of view. As she approached, it was apparent there was someone inside. Rubble, heaps of damaged metal and crumpled packaging scattered towards the edges of the barrier, and something orange, a shape low to the ground, something that looked like fabric.

 

_“Poe?_ Poe Dameron? Is that _you?”_ Jess shouted, her voice wavering with a hint of fear. The figure was lying down, and there was a decent amount of what appeared to be blood soaked into the orange fabric. Part of her wanted it to be him so badly, but the other was so scared it was. If it was… her body didn’t seem to want to let her get any closer to find out, her feet suddenly feeling heavy and stiff in the sand.

 

A head popped up, weathered and rough, but _kriffing hell_ it was him, curls and all.

 

_“Jessika…?”_ Poe mumbled blearily, already assuming it was another trick of the eyes. “Jess? Jessika!” Practically leaping to his feet, he felt so much relief rushing over him he almost didn’t notice the sharp shooting pain in his thigh. _Almost._ “Oh _fuck,_ not _now.”_

 

“Poe! Are you okay? Let me in! Let’s get out of here! Everyone’s waiting!”

 

Rushing to collect himself, Poe grabbed for the atmospheric suit, zipping it up as he stumbled forward. He felt high, his brain barely keeping up with his eyes. “Wait, how…. How do I know you’re real?”

 

_“What?!”_ Jess coughed, her patience already running thin. “I’m fucking real! I’m right here! What are you talking about?”

 

“The… the hoojibs. Let me… show me your eyes.” Poe stepped forward carefully, still clutching his helmet with trembling hands.

 

“Hoojibs? What… There’s nothing kriffing wrong with _my eyes,_ let me in! Or come out, what the fuck ever, let’s just _go, please!”_

 

Glancing down at his own hands and then back up at Jess, Poe couldn’t ease the fear in his mind that this was all a trick. “Please, your eyes, show me….”

 

Sighing, Jess practically slammed her helmet against the barrier, making her eyes wide as possible. “Is _this_ good enough? Can we GO NOW?”

 

Poe approached the edge, treading over crunching wrappers as he inspected her face. It looked as familiar as ever, and her pupils, although hard to see against the dark brown of her iris, appeared to be their normal shape. “Okay… okay. You look normal, let me—“

 

“I AM NORMAL!” Jess shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts. “Please, you’re freaking me out. Let’s get out of here, this storm is bad and this place is unstable.”

 

“Okay, yes, I just— I need to… turn off the shield.”

 

“Put your helmet on first, dude.”

 

Poe fumbled to shove the helmet over his head. “Of course, of course, of course…” He turned briskly, returning to the hacked-together mess of wires with the shield controls. “I— I’m going to turn this off, but there isn’t any guarantee I can turn it back on after!” Poe could feel himself sweating, the fear of dropping his only protection from the elements, from suffocation, creeping back into his gut like an ice cold liquid.

 

 

/

 

 

The sound of hushed chatter filled his ears as Finn slowly entered the control centre, following just behind Connix, and BB-8 rolling just behind him. He glanced over the brightly lit console screens every technician was monitoring closely, but saw very little data for him to read. There were large blank spaces, with two blips labelled “BLUE SQUADRON 1” and “BLUE SQUADRON 2”. Everything else was empty, making his stomach feel just the same.

 

“Finn, I’m glad you’re here, come sit with me.” The General motioned to a vacant white pod-like chair beside her.

 

Finn took the offered seat, his eyes glued to the largest screen on the wall in front of them. BB-8 rolled quietly beside him, head swivelling curiously around the room.

 

“Have you been informed as to what’s happening? At all? I just want to be sure you’re accurately informed.” Leia placed a hand on the edge of the table beside them, trying to appear both comforting and calm.

 

Finn felt his eyes peeling themselves from the blue glow of the monitor, meeting the General’s, his brain taking a moment to catch up. “I uh,” he paused for a moment. "I know you've found something, and you think it might be Poe. And uh..."

 

"Yes, we found an area that was pinging not only "S.O.S", but it's spelled out your name as well." The General smiled, attempting to read Finn's vacant expression. "The Blue Squadron was sent out to investigate, but they can't get a clear read on the area either."

 

"Okay..." Finn was feeling lost, it'd been a long time since he'd felt this alone and unsure of things. It was getting harder and harder to get his hopes hung up over so little.

 

"Capitan Wexley reported holo-projected meteorites, followed by a terra-plane of some sort. Jessika volunteered to attempt landing on it, and the rest of the squad is standing by."

 

"A terra-plane... I know The First Order used those a long time ago. Have.. you heard anything back?" Finn perked up at the sound of something familiar.

 

"No, nothing yet, but we will soon. That's why I wanted you here, to be ready when we do." Leia's eyes narrowed. "However, you mentioned the First Order. What can you tell me about that? If this has anything to do with them, this task becomes that much riskier."

 

 

/

 

“You’re going to be fine, I’m here, my ship is close! Don’t worry!”

 

Clenching his eyes shut, Poe willed himself to just move forward. “Just… _do it…_ ”

 

The dull white noise of the sandstorm behind the atmospheric field suddenly, harshly interrupted by frantic beeping, a rush of sand hitting him all at once, and then the distressing sound of wind howling through the the cracks of his poorly repaired helmet. His eyes snapped open, his throat tight with the fear that his repair job wouldn’t be enough.

 

Jess rushed forward, grasping outward for Poe’s hands through the torrential sand. “Hurry! Just follow me!”

 

Poe stared at her in shock, feeling suspended in time as he willed himself to take a breath.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Jessika wrenched Poe forward by his hand and started running on autopilot. Her feet carried her as fast as they could, struggling against the resistance from Poe’s limping gait behind her. His hand felt limp, confused, out of reach. Glancing over her shoulder to catch his eyes, Jess shouted, “My ship is only a few meters away! Don’t fucking fight me, just book it, Dameron!”

 

Poe nodded quickly, his brain having a hard time connecting to his mouth. Was this _really_ real? Was this just another elaborate mirage to lull him out into false security so those bizarre hoojib-creatures could eat him?

 

His morbid thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sight of Jessika’s X-Wing parked and waiting, sand violently pinging off the metal exterior, making some of the worst scratching noises he’s ever heard.

 

Jess fumbled with her free hand to find the control to open the hatch, dragging Poe behind her to climb up the side and get in. “Please, _please_ don’t fight me _now_ , just get in, kriffing hell _just get in!_ ”

 

Poe clambered up the side, feet sliding out from under him against the grit of the sand against the metal, his body pulsating with the heat of his panicking body inside his suit. Practically falling head first into the seat, Jess shut the closure over them.

 

They struggled to fit, Jess just barely squishing herself into the pilot’s seat with Poe bent over just behind her. “Are you good? I’m prepping to take off immediately, we don’t have time to wait for a clear moment, this thing is unstable as shit,” Jess flicked switches and prepped the controls, the comm system coming to life with static, along with Ello and Wexley’s choppy attempts to get through.

 

_“Ha…. Damer— tzzz! ….. Copy! Do…. ee?”_

 

“This is Jessika Pava reporting with Commander Dameron in tow! We’re preparing to take off from the terra-plane immedi—

 

“THIS IS A WHAT?” Poe erupted from the back seat, his squished body pressing forward into Jess’s back.

 

_“I know,_ I know! Just shut up for like 5 minutes while we get out of here and I’ll explain everything I know!” Jessika sighed, tightening herself into her seat harness before slamming on the gas and yanking back on the yoke.

 

/

 

_“Th…. ess…. Pava repor….. der…. preparing ffff….”_

 

“Did she just say she’s preparing for take off? Does she have him?” Ello attempted to tune the comm to hear the message clearly but was disappointed by nothing but static.

 

Wexley sat upright in his seat, preparing for things to get interesting. “I have no idea, but one way or another we should be ready to go the moment we get the signal.”

 

“I’ve _been ready_. Are you just lazing around in your cockpit?”

 

“Oh not now, Ello…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been.... Nearly a year since the last update? Christ. Well, we're nearly there! Hang tight, I'm not letting go 'til this is over!


End file.
